


What's Most Important

by NeoNails



Category: Glee
Genre: Brittany Being Adorably Clueless, Check Yourself Before You Wreck Yourself, F/F, Humor, Romance, You Don't Mess with Santana
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-01
Updated: 2013-09-01
Packaged: 2017-12-25 06:52:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/950010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeoNails/pseuds/NeoNails
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People feared Santana Lopez for a reason. "Obviously this cannot happen again, Miss Lopez." "I tripped," she said simply. "On a couple hockey players."</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's Most Important

_Is that your hand_  
 _On my girlfriend?_  
 _Is that your hand?_  
 _I wish you'd do it again  
_ _I'll watch you leave here limping_

\- "Next Contestant," by Nickelback

 

* * *

People feared Santana Lopez for a reason.

She wasn't _just_ a heinous bitch- that was Quinn. That was why she went good so quickly. Quinn was nasty, but give her a dead-end situation and she crumpled like a puppet with its strings cut.

Santana was beyond a bitch- she was ruthless. When someone set her off, she didn't just ruin their reputations- she made them wish they had never been _born_.

The crap she did to Rachel Berry was nothing compared to what she was _truly_ capable.

Santana's older brothers liked to fight. When they were little, it was play-fighting, but as they got older that morphed into boxing and karate- when her parents could afford it- and then other forms, like judo and kickboxing and then UFC cage matches- when her brothers had the jobs to afford it.

And they taught her _everything_.

"Obviously this cannot happen again, Miss Lopez."

Santana rolled her eyes but said nothing to Mr. Figgins. She was waiting for Coach Sylvester to show up, because obviously the crazy woman would know that Santana's parents could not- under _any_ circumstances- be contacted about this.

Not that Figgins would be able to reach them, anyway.

She crossed her legs with a sigh. "Listen, Principal Figgins," she said, a trace of impatience leaking into her voice. "We both know it was self-defense, and besides, before you could even suspend me Coach is going to come strolling in, threaten you with _something_ , and then I'll leave after writing the hockey coach an apology letter."

Figgins got a little paler, but didn't drop the 'disapproving father' frown.

She sighed again, fixing her perfect red-and-white cheerleader skirt. Red really was a great color for her complexion. Brittany's too, for that matter.

But everything looked good on Brittany.

"What happened?!"

Santana whipped her head around. Well. Crap. Mr. Schue wasn't supposed to be the one storming through the doors.

"Where's Coach Sylvester?" Santana asked, eyebrows knitting together and a total WTF expression etched on her face.

"Sue has some tabloid interview that of course takes precedence over her student," Mr. Schuester said, clearly angry Coach was once again putting her reputation in front of her job.

For the first time all day, Santana was struck with a moment of doubt. Mr. Schue didn't have the pull to make her little altercation disappear- and even if he did, he was too much of a damned do-gooder to actually make it happen.

She could handle being suspended- it wasn't as though they hadn't threatened her with it before.

"Santana, what happened?" Mr. Schue repeated, fixing her with his too-nice eyes and sad disappointed frown. She didn't tell anyone- other than Brittany, of course- but sometimes she hated disappointing Mr. Schue because he's just so damned _nice_ and _forgiving_.

Brittany, of course, agreed.

Santana shrugged, examining her nails- which was a bad idea, because it made her realize that in the ensuing scuffle she had chipped her otherwise perfect manicure. Her fingers are always painted a nice blood red- it's her color, after all- but now there is actual blood under her fingertips, along with purple and green blotchy bruises on her knuckles, and a sort of ugly-looking scrape that's still bleeding sluggishly on her palm.

"I tripped," she said simply, not batting an eye as she glanced up at Mr. Schue. "On a couple hockey players."

Mr. Schue was silent for a beat, soaking up the information as he simultaneously took in her appearance. Besides her hands, Santana had earned a cut on the left side of her jaw, in addition to what she assumed- based on the throbbing alone- a big ass bruise on that same side high on her cheekbone.

But her cheerleading uniform was absolutely pristine, and, really, wasn't that all that was important?

"Miss Lopez refuses to get examined by the nurse," Figgins added, and Mr. Schue looked back at him for a split second before snapping his warm blue eyes back to Santana.

She was pretty sure she had a thing for blue eyes- as a kid she always wished she was pale and blonde and perfect and not dark and dusky and _different_ \- which was probably the only reason she felt a twinge of guilt when he stared down at her with those sad, nice eyes.

"You need to go to the nurse, Santana," he said, his voice taking on a concerned- but firm- tone.

That was tough _galletas_ , because she wasn't going anywhere near the damned nurse. "No," she said, looking up at him square in the eye. Brittany loved to make sad eyes at her all the time- especially when Brittany wanted something that Santana refused to give her, like another one of Santana's mother's famous lemon bars- so she had pretty much mastered the art of ignoring the puppy dog face.

"The three ice hockey players are all at the nurse's office," Figgins continued, completely ignoring Santana's reply. "Along with Brittany."

_That_ caused Santana to whip her head around glare at Figgins. "Brittany's at the nurse's?!" she spat, standing up. "With those hockey _dickheads?!_ "

Figgins gaped up at her, clearly not expecting her- totally understandable- outburst. "W-well, yes," he said, looking down at the papers he had been clutching in his hands, as though they would hold the answers to everything. "We wanted to make sure she didn't have a concussion-"

Santana didn't wait for him to say anymore. Before he or Mr. Schue could blink, she was sprinting out of the room, out of the office, down the hallway, around the corner, and straight into the nurse's office.

The three hockey assholes _were_ there, and when they spotted her they went from looking miserable to looking unbelievably pissed in the span of a couple seconds, but it didn't matter. Santana wasn't afraid of them before, and she wasn't afraid of them now- she was just afraid for Brittany, who had been the whole reason why she had gotten into the fight in the first place.

Santana curled her lip, letting out a low growl without consciously realizing it. She would wreck their asses again if she really had to- no one stood between her and Brittany.

She breezed past the ancient nurse, rounding the curtain to see Brittany perched on the butcher paper-covered table. Brittany, as usual, looked an adorable combination between afraid, happy, and confused. Afraid because- as Santana knew- Brittany hated doctors. Happy because- as Santana knew- the nurse had given Brittany a bright cherry red lollipop, and Brittany loved lollipops. Confused because- as Santana knew- Brittany was almost always confused.

Santana heaved out a sigh of relief when she saw that Brittany was fine- granted, there was still that scrape on her forehead and what looked _very_ close to a handprint-shaped bruise on her upper arm that made Santana's blood boil- but she was safe. That was all that was important.

"Look, S," she said, her words taking on a slight lisp from having to talk around the lollipop. "The nurse gave me this Disney Band-Aid!" She lifted her golden bangs, showing the bright pink and blue Band-Aid that mostly covered her scrape. "And a lollipop!"

Santana didn't bother stifling her laugh, walking over to Brittany and wrapping her arm around the lithe blonde's shoulders. She hugged Brittany close to her, murmuring how relieved she was that those hockey pricks hadn't hurt her.

She didn't realize that she said all of this in Spanish- she had a tendency to switch to her native tongue when she was really angry or really scared- but Brittany didn't stop her. Brittany wasn't so good at spelling and writing in Spanish- she wasn't so good at spelling or writing in English, either- but she spent enough time around the Lopez household to know how to speak the language and understand it.

Brittany was laughing, Santana noticed after a couple of minutes, and she stopped whispering long enough to appreciate the beautiful tinkle of sound that was Brittany's laugh.

"I'm okay, S," she said, leaning her head on Santana's so her soft blonde ponytail spilled on Santana's dark one and their too-different hair mixed together in the best way. "But I don't think the hockey guys are as okay."

Santana laughed with her then, tightening her grip around Brittany and letting her eyes slip shut for a few seconds. She was eventually going to have to go back to Figgins and- somehow- explain herself and get out of the probable suspension, not to mention apologize to Mr. Schue.

But that was later. For right now, she was content to hold Brittany and laugh.

And- to Santana- there wasn't anything more important than that.


End file.
